


If You're Feeling Unfaithful

by pineapple_penned



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: F/M, Soul Punk Era Patrick Stump, fall out boy - Freeform, patrick stump - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 14:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17326919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineapple_penned/pseuds/pineapple_penned
Summary: He never intended for it to happen. God, no, never would he have thought...Nevermind that silly white-gold band on his finger. The opportunity was there, and goddamn, did he want her





	If You're Feeling Unfaithful

It started with meeting Pete at some stupid club in Chicago. He wanted to catch up with Patrick for whatever reason. But Pete, in his very Pete Wentz fashion, was late to arrive. Like always.

They were finally, _finally_ finished with touring, and thankfully so. The grind was starting to wear on Patrick--physically and emotionally. He just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep forever, both to recover from his seemingly eternal tiredness and to hide from the rest of the world for a while.

That's when he saw her. Seated across the bar with a glass of water, boy whispering in her ear. She made a disgusted face, pulling away with the shake of her head. The man slammed down his drink angrily, grabbing her by the arm. In this panicked moment the girl's caramel eyes turned to Patrick's, looking for help. Pleading. Patrick stood from his spot with some unfounded charisma, pulling the man away from her.

"Hey buddy, leave her alone. She said no, all right?" He growled, standing between them. The man easily towered over both Patrick and the woman, but he stalked away nonetheless. Patrick turned to her asking, "Are you alright there, sweetheart?" Secretly he breathed a sigh of relief, glad the altercation ended as easily as it had.

The girl could only nod, gripping her glass with white knuckles. Patrick nodded once, taking a seat to her right. He let his eyes roam her features–caramel eyes, dark hair, fair skin. An attractive woman, no doubt. "Would you like me to get you something to drink?" Patrick asked, leaning closer to be heard over the pop music playing. His foot tapped against one of the stool's legs to the baseline.

She nodded murmuring a, "Yes, thank you." Patrick ordered her a frozen strawberry lemonade. Nonalcoholic, just to be on the safe side. She smiled gratefully upon being handed the drink, taking a delighted sip. "Thank you," she said again, appreciative.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" He asked, swirling the ice around his glass. It was becoming increasingly harder to remember his wife–who had been away a couple weeks visiting friends and family out of state. The wedding band was a constant reminder, however, mocking him in the dim light of this nightclub. They hadn't _exactly_ been on the best terms during the tour, and he was trying his hardest to forget the night she called him to inform him that she would be out of state for a month and a half. Patrick was infuriated, completely bewildered at the fact that his wife would choose such a time to leave--just as he was coming home. The girl tapped her fingers against the cold glass, observing Patrick. She cleared her throat, bringing Patrick's attention back to her.

"Cherie," she said, eyes finally meeting Patrick's.

"Patrick," he murmured, sticking out his hand to her. She shook his hand gently before placing hers back onto the bar's countertop. "So what're you doin' here by yourself?" He asked, adjusting himself on his stool. Cherie noted his blueish green eyes and mousy brown hair, sticking up slightly in the front. Patrick's fair skin made his red lips stand out, and his smile was blinding.

"I just come here sometimes. You know, just by myself to get a drink or somethin'. How about you?" She sipped the frozen lemonade happily. Her eyes traced over Patrick's figure, admiring his attractiveness, no doubt interested in him. Not many men were there defending her from creeps, and she greatly appreciated his help.

"A buddy of mine asked me to come here with him," Patrick shrugged. "But he's MIA, so I just thought I'd, you know, get a drink." Patrick lifted his drink, as if he needed proof of his actions. "I dunno if he'll show. He's one of those guys, you know?"

Cherie laughed with a nod of her head. "I know the type." 

Patrick's eyes met hers and he smiled, the unsettled feelings that had been a cloud over his head finally dispersing. Cherie smiled back, and just looking at her breathed into Patrick new life. He began asking her questions about herself, what she liked to do, where she was from. In turn, she asked him similar questions-- _"What's your favorite color? Orange? I can see that. Mine's green."_

"I like you," he had told her. "You're a good person, an honest soul." Patrick was completely and utterly captivated by her, it was as if his wedding band were nonexistent. 

Cherie noticed, however. She saw the unmistakable gleam of the white gold band in the blue light of the bar's counter. She didn't ask, didn't mention anything, although her heart dropped slightly at the observation. Patrick was a nice man, a genuinely true spirit, and she appreciated him for that. He was so easy to talk to she was shocked to find it was nearing quarter past one in the middle of their conversation about different ethnic food places in the city. "Fuck, it's one o'clock already? I could've sworn it was only midnight!" Cherie shook her head, standing from the bar's counter to make her exit. She stretched her arms above her head with a sigh. "Well, it was nice meeting you," she told Patrick, picking up her clutch. She noticed Patrick purse his lips, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"I don't wanna, you know, be weird, but do you wanna accompany me outta here? I know it's late, but you could come back to my place if you'd like." Patrick scratched the back of his neck nervously, and Cherie's eyes caught sight of his wedding band yet again. She felt an unsettled twisting in her stomach as the words left her mouth.

"Sure, I'd like that."

Patrick nodded, standing up beside her. "Great," he held open the door for her, walking with her down the street to his car. Patrick rested his hand against the small of her back as they made their way down the sidewalk, slowing to a halt beside his car. He unlocked and opened the door for his guest before crossing in front of the car to get in on the driver's side.

 

Cherie watched him drive, her eyelids growing heavy at the late hour, observing Patrick tap his fingers against the steering wheel, the wedding band mocking them again, a silent reminder to their wrongdoing. Patrick seemed to ignore it, chatting casually as he drove, looking over at a sleepy Cherie beside him. "You all right, sweetheart?" He asked, slowing to a stop at the gate in the front of his neighborhood. Cherie perked up at his question, nodding her head.

 "Yeah, I'm fine."

 "Good," Patrick smiled, punching in his code for the gates to open. His right hand curled around her knee as he drove down the winding road to his large home. Her heart pounded in her chest, heat rushing to her cheeks at his touch. Cherie was taken aback at the large house with a lush green lawn and neatly kept plants as they pulled into the driveway. All the lights were off, save for the one on the porch. Patrick could see her surprise at his home. "Yeah, it takes some getting used to," he laughed, cutting the car's engine. He removed his hand from her knee, opening his door to exit the car, and Cherie still felt the weight of his palm against her skin. She followed him onto the porch, pausing as he unlocked the door.

"Patrick," she murmured nervously, gazing up at him. He leaned against the unlocked door, studying her facial expression. She couldn't do this. He was a married man, she was lonely, and it wasn't right. "I, I don't know, Patrick. I can't. You're..." She trailed off uncomfortably, biting her lip.

Patrick's mouth twitched to the side, contemplative of her statement, his hand frozen on the doorknob. He gazed down at his fingers, at the wedding ring taunting him. "Cherie," he sighed. "My, _wife_ and I...we're. We're not really..." He ran his hands over his face, frustrated, but Cherie reached out for his hand, taking it gently in hers. She nodded her head toward the door silently, motioning for Patrick to let her in. He pushed open the door without another word, and Cherie's jaw fell open at the interior of his home. Expansive halls, expensive furniture, high ceilings. His small dog immediately ran up to them, sniffing at their feet. Patrick kicked off his shoes by the door and Cherie followed his lead, abandoning her high heels beside his sneakers.

 

She noted the platinum and gold albums hanging on the walls as he led her through to the living room, reading _Fall Out Boy_ on each of them. She wracked her brain for information on the band, noting a few of their songs that she'd heard in the past, and few she may have had on her iPod at some point in time. "You're in a band?" She asked him, still gripping his hand in hers.

"Y-yeah," he nodded. "I sing."

"That's awesome," she smiled, standing by his side in the large living room. Patrick nodded again nervously at her complement before changing the subject.

"Do you want something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Juice? Water?" Patrick's thumb traced along the inside of her palm and it tickled, but she didn't want him to stop.

"I'll just have a cup of coffee, thanks," she said, sitting down on the white sofa. Patrick walked into the kitchen to fix her a cup of coffee, watching her from the twenty or so feet away. He watched her take in all the details of his home, then pet his apprehensive Pomeranian pacing at her feet. He returned moments later with a cup of coffee and a cup of green tea. He removed his jacket, tossing it onto the loveseat before sitting beside Cherie. He propped his feet up on the coffee table, resting his arm on the back of the couch with a long sigh.

"I'm beat," he laughed, looking over at her. She smiled, staring down into her coffee cup. He inspected her earrings, four of them lining her ear. "I like your earrings," he said, leaning closer. A diamond, a moon, a sun, and a skull. "Those are neat."

"Thanks, Patrick." She touched her ear briefly before turning to look at him. "I like the sun and the moon. Meant to be together, but two entities that can never meet." Her eyes locked with Patrick's as she said this, and suddenly the air around them became electric. They sat like that for a while, sipping their drinks and looking at each other. Eventually Patrick set his mug down, pulling his feet from the coffee table's top. Cherie followed suit, sitting up a little straighter on the edge of the sofa. Her burning eyes read the clock on the wall, 2 a.m. on the dot.

 

Patrick's hand slowly skirted along her upper back, startling her the slightest. His fingers ran through her dark hair slowly before his index finger traced along the edge of her ear. His motions were slow, testing the waters. He felt Cherie's skin heating up under his fingers and even that satisfied him. He missed the thrill of a woman's touch, her presence, being intimate a woman. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt like this. His mouth was dry as he held her face with his right hand, running his thumb along her hot skin. "Cherie," he murmured, drawing the slightest bit closer. She shut her eyes in anticipation and nervousness, feeling Patrick's breath ghost over her skin. Her lips were buzzing with just the thought of his mouth on hers.

Patrick held her face very firmly, now with both hands, staring at her. Her pulse hammered beneath her skin and he could feel it in his pinky fingers. The cool metal of his wedding band was pressed against her cheek, searing against her skin. He licked his lips, pressing their foreheads together. She whispered his name just barely, their lips brushing for a millisecond. Then he pounced. It was just a firm press of his lips to hers, but it left him shaking. His hands dropped from her face to his lap, twining his fingers together tightly to keep them from shaking.

Cherie's eyes opened, wide and curious. Patrick kissed her again, slower, gentler, and his heart jumped when her hand found his. She eased his nerves just by her simple touch, and he leaned into her closer. His wedding band felt like a restraint, a brick tied to him dragging him down. He cupped her face with his free hand, pulling away from her just the slightest. "You're gorgeous," he murmured. "You're gorgeous, and I love everything about you, and fuck I want _this_ so bad." Patrick's lips traveled from her mouth, kissing along her jaw and throat slowly down to her exposed collar bone. She felt each kiss on her pale skin, searing hot, and she could only imagine the mark, although invisible, each kiss left on her.

 

_Cheater. Cheater. Cheater._

 

Patrick's voice vibrated against the base of her neck. "And fuck this piece of shit," he sat up, pulling the gleaming wedding band from his finger. "This doesn't mean anything to me. This? Is this a symbol of love? Or was this just an empty promise hidden behind an expensive wedding? Just, _fuck_ \--" Cherie cut him off with a hard kiss to his lips and he dropped the band on the coffee table. "Do you think you can fall in love with somebody in one night?" His lips were back on her neck, traveling up beside her ear. 

"I...Yeah, Patrick. I do." Her voice felt so feeble, so small compared to his angry tone. She knew he wasn't angry at her, he was angry at the situation. And yeah, she probably loved every ounce of his being just after knowing him for five and a half hours. And it was fucked up and it shouldn't have happened. Not that they minded so much.

His voice sent shivers up her spine, his lips brushing right against her ear. "Then fuck, I'm in love with you." As the words fell from his mouth he stood, holding his hand out for her. He pulled her from the couch with a little too much force, catching her as she fell into his chest. "Shit, I'm sorry," he smiled nervously, brushing her hair from her forehead. "I'm just a little excited." He cupped her face in his hands again, kissing her slower, savoring her taste on his tongue. He let out a shaky breath against her lips, sighing. "C'mon, sweetheart." He pulled her by the hand toward the stairs. Cherie's pulse hammered so hard she could hear it in her ears. She knew her palms must've been sweating, but Patrick kept his hold on her hand, glancing over his shoulder at her every now and then as he led her up the stairs, then down a long hallway with a hardwood floor to the last door on the left. He swung open the door to reveal his bedroom. The floor was the same hardwood as the hallway, and his bed adorned a ruby red comforter and sheets. She loved the room's simplicity, but saw the matching dressers, one scattered with minimal makeup and jewelry, and it make her stomach churn.

 

Patrick led her to the bed, sitting down on the edge. Cherie sat beside him, hands folded delicately in her lap. Patrick ruffled his hair before shifting closer to her. Across from them was a large floor-to-ceiling mirror, and staring back at them were hollow reflections. Was this really Patrick? Staring blankly ahead with his hand curled around Cherie's knee? Her expression was empty, staring back at the pair sitting on the bed. "Sometimes I don't even know what I'm doing, you know?" Patrick flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "She fucking ruined me. I gave her everything she wanted. The ring, the dress, the wedding, the house. I gave it all. And here I am, home for the first time in months and she's off God knows where. Isn't that fucked up? Not even within state lines. Illinois wasn't good enough for her, was it? _I'm_ not good enough for her. I guess I never was."

Patrick pressed his hand against the small of Cherie's back, causing her to turn and face him. He wore a grimace on his lips, and as much as she wanted to comfort him and give him some sort of insight, she couldn't. She laid on her stomach beside him, her arms folded beneath her chin. Cherie didn't know this woman. She barely knew this man. She didn't know who else slept in this bed at night, whose makeup was on top of the dresser. It all didn't sit well with her despite the obvious relationship problems. "Patrick, I--" before she could finish Patrick pressed a kiss against her lips, melting her previous uneasiness. Something about him felt so _right_. Patrick's hand slowly traveled up her torso, to the collar of her blouse, shifting so his fingers could fiddle with the buttons on the navy blue fabric. His actions were deliberate and cautious, unfastening each button with the utmost care. His fingers skimmed her breasts and Cherie sighed at his touch, welcoming it more than anything. She didn't know the last time she'd felt this way. Years ago, probably. Some far-off memory that was too fuzzy to even remember. Her thoughts stopped when he pulled her blouse from her body, gently letting it fall to the floor on the other side of the bed.

Cherie's hand rested against Patrick's cheek, holding his mouth to hers. She didn't want him to stop kissing her for fear of it never happening again. But he pulled away, letting his lips linger on her neck, his hand, sans wedding ring, resting on her waist. As insecure as she was, she felt comfortable with Patrick, which was an amazing feeling. "My Cherie amour," he murmured with a chuckle against her skin. She rolled her eyes.

"Don't even, Patrick," she laughed, pulling away from him. She gripped the hem of his dark t-shirt with her small fingers, dragging it up over his head until he was rid of it. She smiled, admiring his fair skin and the light hair covering his chest. He leaned up on his elbow, gazing down at her with a soft expression.

"Sit up, sweetheart," he whispered, and the little term of endearment gave her butterflies for the first time that night. His voice was thick and sweet, saccharine like honey. She did as she was told, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. She felt his fingers skim her spine, halting at her bra clasp, which he unhooked, sliding the garment down her arms. He placed it on the floor with her blouse, a delighted smile on his lips. He could feel himself hardening with just the view of her bare back.

She turned to face him without prompting, and she saw the lustful gleam in his eyes.

 

Goddamn, did he want her.

**Author's Note:**

> reposting an old story because i'm feeling nostalgic. i miss how active the fic scene used to be, especially on mibba. but we all grow older and grow out of it. figured i'd post it here for a new audience anyway.


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